It's Impossible Right?
by Jadeah
Summary: A rewrite of There's No Way. Soap discovers something he never thought would have ever happened. How is this even possible? Please R&R. T for swearing and maybe other reasons.
1. Chapter 1

**A rewrite of the original story "There's NO Way". For you guys who wanted me to continue the story, here it is, and you'll also find a stunning lack of typos now. You can thank my new Beta Reader, Blitzy-chan, for that. I also was working a lot harder to make sure that characters stayed in character and such, so there you go.  
>Another quick thanks to Stoneface and all the rest of you guys who encouraged me to keep going, it met a lot. I hope you guys like this new version. I'd also like to say, if you find anything wrong, don't start calling me "arrogent" or a "bad writer" simply tell me the mistakes in the reviews without flaming me.<br>Thanks,  
>~Jadeah<strong>

It was quiet. A long calm silence had taken the safehouse, to the point where he could no longer hear the sounds of conversation, the clatter of weapons when placed on their racks or a table, not even the constant footsteps he had grown used to; just a dead quiet...

It was times like these that made Soap a little annoyed. He was used to fighting, and when things got quiet, he got jittery. Just something about being in a gunfire made him think clearer. Now it seemed as though he was the very last to inhabit the safehouse, and the lack of activity was killing him. His immobility had been had been going on now for weeks. The constant need of help for the simplest of things, and the fact he was apparently so weak in his former Captain's eyes, it tore at him. He'd never completely understand the man, but he still cared about him. Hell, he'd be dead for five years now if he hadn't pulled him into that helicopter on his first mission. But the fact that whenever he tried to stand Price would come in and tell him to go back to bed was frustrating. How would he get better if he had to lay around all the time?

He'd been drawing in his journal, but they were small and very simple sketches that barely mattered. He'd even ended up tearing a page out of the small black book in frustration, crumbling the page into a small wad before throwing it into the waste bin at the opposite wall; it skirted the edge before falling in. Finally, he put his journal back down on the nightstand, sighing heavily out of extreme boredom.

Soon he started to flick at his forearm, barely registering the nail of his index finger smacking against his skin. This simple method of entertainment was only one for the simple minded. The easily amused. Sadly, Soap wasn't one of these people, and he groaned before laying back. When he was about to put his head back onto the soft pillow, the back of his skull hit the head board of his bed. He sat up fast, rubbing the small bump where his head had connected with the head board, glaring at the metal rail.

He grumbled some inaudible curses directed towards the head board, the quiet, and his stomach wound. Sparing a glance, he let his eyes fall on the laptop on the complete opposite side of the room. Just sitting there... mocking him. Price had put it there saying that he should rest, but if anyone tried to convince him it was the captain's way of saying, "I'm trying to annoy the shit out of you," then he might just believe them. It was pretty stupid, or to him, it seemed like it was.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, he very carefully placed his right foot down on the floor first. Then his left foot. The moment he got the rest of his weight off the bed, his knees buckled and he had to catch himself on the mattress before he hit the floor face first. Once Soap had hoisted himself back up to a leaning position on the edge, he tried to coach himself through the rest.

"Going to have to take this slow..." He stiffened his legs and took his first step away from the bed. Then his next. With each step, pain flared in his midsection, but he only gritted his teeth slightly. It was sixty seconds of grueling, nonstop pain, and he found himself using the desk as support while giving himself a moment. Then he realized something else; how will he get the laptop back without tripping and possibly breaking the damn thing? His hands had been out trying to keep him balanced, leaning onto the wall for support. Now he would have to risk falling if he wanted to carry the laptop back to the bed.

He sighed heavily before grumbling to himself on the lousiness of his decision. Then again, he'd rather let his effort in getting here not be in vain. In one free hand, he took hold of the black device.

Then, just audible enough to catch his attention, he heard the door downstairs open. Footsteps followed that, and he listened to a specific pair of footsteps. They were drawing closer. Ever so nearer until the door itself opened.

Now Soap hadn't even a chance to start back for his bed with the laptop, so he was still leaning against the desk, just putting the laptop back down as Price stepped into the room.

"The bloody hell, Soap? I thought I told you to get some rest." Anyone could tell, especially Soap, that he was saying it more in a joking way when he said it. But he still had his point.

A curt nod was Soap's reply to this.

Now the older's tone was slightly more serious. "Did you tear the stitches on your way over there?"

"No," He sighed, putting a hand over the closed wound. "Nothing tore. I'm fine."

Price came closer to him and took hold of an arm. "Come on, get back to bed."

No point arguing; Price had a point. But as he came to sit back down on the bed, he asked, "Where were you guys? I was beginning to worry that you might have died down there."

At first Price chuckled, and pushed his boonie hat back into place before it could slide off his head. "Nikolai was going on a supply run, and almost everyone decided to go with him."

"Almost everyone?" Soap knitted his eyebrows and stared at him. "Who was the quiet bastard who stayed? I didn't hear a sound."

"Yuri." Price answered simply. Then he sighed. "It's strange how he's been so silent. I asked Nikolai and he told me that the man is very closed."

Him... Soap had only barely got the chance to meet him; as he was barely conscious and Yuri was shaken up and dripping wet. Where they were was beyond him. All he remembered of the safehouse was the ceiling, being on a stretcher, the doctor getting shot, and the beginning of some gunfight from outside. Then he could also recall the Russian before he had to shove a needle in his chest. Adrenaline or something. Yuri though appeared mortified upon Nikolai telling him to give him the shot, but he hadn't shut his eyes. In the breif moment before he had, they exchanged a look of mutual fear. And after that, Yuri sunk the needle into him and everything went black. He came to with Nikolai shouting, "There he is! There's Yuri!" like he'd just won a prize or something of the sort, and Price grumbling something back to him. All he could say in the midst of his confused, groggy state was, "Who the bloody hell's Yuri?"

Since that, they both hadn't spoken a single word to each other. Never really got the chance; Soap would always be stuck in his room, and Yuri was always dragged on something like guard duty.

Price sat on the edge of the bed. "You alright, Soap?"

"Yeah, I'll live..." He pushed himself into a sitting position, looking outside a for brief moment. The window was open so that a breeze, if one should ever come, would ventilate through the room, though all it seemed to do was allow for Soap to listen to the sounds outside, and keep the furnishings from smelling like sweat. The window provided a nice overwatch position on the walkway and main entrance. Soap couldn't help but think that it would also be a good spot to snipe enemies coming down the dead end road, and with a pair of binoculars, he could look at the market place. It was a very, VERY nice position should he ever need to provide sniper support here.

A sudden weight on his lap brought his attention away from the window and back to Price. Now there sat the laptop on his thighs. He looked up at Price in confusion; his old captain had said earlier that he felt Soap should rest. "Price? I thought-."

"I know what I said." Price interrupted. "But while I was in the market with Nikolai, I was thinking about how you keep bugging the hell out of everyone, simply because you have nothing better to do. So I figure you could make use of yourself and keep an eye on Makarov's movement for us."

"No problem." Soap replied. "So just keep an eye on the news or what?"

"The news should work fine." Price told him. "It's best to keep an eye out for anything that would link up the the bastard. Maybe, if we get lucky, he'll grow careless and leave a trail. When we have his location, that's when we move in and go for the kill. Besides... we can't really rely on anyone to keep us informed at the moment."

"Cause the world wants us both dead." Soap finished. "Just wait until we show them."

"When the time comes," Price assured. "When it comes." He then stood up and left the room, but just before he closed the door, he added, "Don't let that thing keep you up too long."

Now alone, Soap opened up the laptop and turned it on. It wasn't long before he found some news sites where he could check in on the events going on in the war at the moment. So far all he found was that the Americans had been holding their own alright. Well good for them... that's one less thing to worry about for the time being.

It started with war events. Then his searching took him to the debates in Russia, and soon he found himself looking at the news back closer to home; didn't seem like much was happening. Nothing involving Makarov at least Which was a good thing; last thing he needed was to worry about his parents getting killed by some Russian pounding on their front door.

That brought a new thought. Did they miss him? Did they believe the news? If he returned before everything was straightened out, would he be greeted with warmth, or be turned away, or even killed? But he was their son, so why would they turn away from him?

His search then brought him to something that caught his eye. Titled; LOCAL DEAD LEAVES FAMILY BEHIND. He found himself curious and so continued reading...

_"In an odd string of events, Mark Lowell had been found with a knife impaled in his back. The murder was carefully done, as clues are difficult to come across. All that police have released is that the knife was thrown at him from around 12 and a half meters distance from their vantage point two stories up. The only other clue is stranger. The knife appears to be a combat knife with dried blood on the handle that doesn't match Lowell's. Two other people appear to have fallen victim to the knife. The first is the deceased General_ _Shepherd-" _He stopped reading a moment and did a double take. General Shepherd? But he killed him, if that knife had Shepherd's blood on it, how did it get into Mark Lowell's back? _"- and the second is the former Captain MacTavish, who is wanted for the murder of Shepherd. Police assume MacTavish is dead." _Soap felt his stomach knot up. They thought he was dead... Reluctantly, he continued reading the article._ "Whoever used this knife was very careful not to put any fingerprints; the ones found were of both victims mentioned. 'There is hope that whoever this person is, they left some sort of clue.' Says Officer Michael Gregor. Lowell also left behind his family. A married man, he had two twin children of five years. His wife, Marianna Lowell says that 'his passing was most unfortunate.' A major loss for her and her son and daughter. When told about the two other apparent victims, she made an interesting comment. 'I don't know how the blood of an old lover got on the knife', she had told us, 'But now I know John is dead.'_

He had read enough. He closed the laptop as he thought about what he found out. He knew Marianna. She was a girlfriend he had since before he joined the SAS. They went their separate ways five years ago, when he returned from Russia after killing Zakhaev. He was greeted with a lot of yelling and crying. Looking back, he should have known she would have caught wind of his injuries somehow, and it had worried her sick. When he didn't get in touch while in the hospital, since he couldn't, she was even more scared. When he returned, she kept questioning him on how bad his injuries were. So, to try and ease her, he downsized them. Ironically enough, it didn't work as he had hoped. She was even more angry with him and decided that if he couldn't be completely honest, then she couldn't trust him enough to be in a relationship.

So she had kids? Five year old kids? He pondered this for a long moment. The math didn't add up. He and Marianna had been dating five years back, and it took nine months for the children be born. Marianna was never the cheating type, and it was impossible for this Mark guy and Marianna could have had five year old twins. This fact alone, made it even stranger. He found himself dawning upon a realization he wished he hadn't.

If Mark wasn't the father of these twins, that would that mean that... he was?


	2. Chapter 2

After a night of counting the hours and struggling to force his mind to ease, Soap found himself exhausted in the morning. Despite it, he continued to work on the laptop, and didn't stray from keeping an eye on Makarov like he had last night. To say the least, his curiousity would eventually get the better of him, it was only a matter of time.

Until then, he stared at the words on the screen with half open eyes, hardly even reading them as he turned a yawn into a heavy sigh. With his mind hardly on the task, he found himself reading the same sentence over and over again for ten minutes, unable to get past it. At some point he got frustrated and closed the laptop a little more roughly than he intended, opening it a second later to make sure he hadn't broken the damn thing. Satisfied with knowing the device wasn't damaged, he once against closed it, and laid it on the nightstand before letting his head fall back to the pillow. Now he yawned, almost silently, as he closed his eyes to try and catch just a little sleep.

But, just his luck, the moment he actually managed to catch himself in a light sleep, Price had knocked on the door and entered. He rubbed his eyes and grunted in response to it. For once, just once, could he just get at least a few hours of uninterrupted sleep?

Price had easily picked up on the irritated mood the younger was in and stayed a good meter from the bed, and out of striking range. "You hungry at all? You didn't eat anything for a day."

He nodded. "I know." Then shrugged, pretending that he didn't care when in truth he would have liked to just get up and get himself something. He'd rather not bother anyone to do anything.

This would have gone on without notice, had his stomach not growled loud enough for Price to hear. While the older merely chuckled, Soap just waved it off and tried to act like he didn't hear anything.

"You sure I can't get you anything?" Price asked.

Soap sighed, about to grab the laptop off the nightstand to distract himself and get some work done. "If you're so concerned, then feel free to get me anything. But I don't care what you do."

With a sigh, Price left, but not before saying, "Maybe when I get back you could tell me what's got you so defensive." With the door closed again, Soap was secluded to his room once more, wishing he had told Price about his looking up the news near home. Maybe he'd understand. Thankfully he still had a chance. He could tell him as soon as Price returned.

Luckily, Soap's former captain didn't take too long. He returned to the bedroom in about five minutes with a bottle of orange juice and a couple of english muffins. Soap showed that he was aware of his presence by closing the laptop again, along with the news reports he had just started to read. The older of the two just put the plate and plastic bottle on the nightstand and sat on the edge.

"Now about your behavour..."

Soap answered before he even cared to finish. "I found something last night while reading reports, and I hadn't been expecting what it told me."

Price knitted his eyebrows, a wordless sign that he wanted him to continue.

"I had been looking at the news around home," Soap told him hesitantly, "And I found a single report about a murder. I knew something was a little weird at first, but people get killed so I didn't really think about it. It turned out the man had a wife and a couple of kids. I knew the wife, very well... But that wasn't exactly the only thing that was startling."

"Then what is it?" Price questioned.

"That man was killed by a knife that I think we both would recognise." Soap sighed, his hand covering his stab wound.

To that, the older just stared in shock. "But how, in bloody hell, could someone have gotten the damn thing? It was in enemy territory, far away from the U.K. and someone managed to get to Shepard's body, take the damn thing, and kill a guy? What's the point?"

Soap shrugged to this. "How should I know of their motive? They found mine, and Shepherd's blood dried up on the thing though. And they guessed that I probably died since my blood is there." Now he pinched the bridge of his nose to sooth his headache that formed. "It only gets stranger..."

"How?" Price casted him a shocked look. "You'd think finding that knife in Scotland is odd enough. How does it get more baffling?"

Now he couldn't think of an easier way to put the next half of the information, so he was just as blunt as a wooden paddle. "That woman I knew, she was once my girlfriend. We broke up five years ago. And the kids of hers are around five years old."

"Bloody hell..." Price murmered, unable to come up with any other words. "So not only does everyone think you're dead, and that knife managed to wind up thousands of miles away, but your also telling me that you're apparently a father to a couple of kids you never met?"

"Exactly..." Soap sighed heavily, then buried his face in his hands. "What do I do?"

"A better question is what can you do?" Price told him. "We're wanted men, Soap. They even believe you died when you're very much alive. Neither one of us can go home, not until we can clear our names and make sure it's safe to return. It's best if we don't do anything about this. It's not a priority."

That's when Price decided it would be a good time to bail, he stood up and put a hand on Soap's shoulder reassuringly.  
>"I know it's confusing, but for now, don't try anything stupid that will get us discovered."<p>

And then Price went for the door, not looking back once as he closed it and left Soap to stew in his thoughts. So the Scot sat there for an hour or so, confused and unable to really come up with a good solution to how he would go about the situation.

The problem was, there wasn't... He couldn't just go to his ex and say, "Hey I'm alive, let me see my kids that you never told me about!" That's how you get pepper spray to the eyes and kicked in the crotch, both of which he would rather avoid. And someone can easily change an Email or go to another address; even if they do get the message then they can simply get rid of it. And calling her... well he wasn't even sure she kept the same phone number for five years.  
>It was at least worth a shot.<p>

He dialed up her number, or at least what he remembered to be hers. And listened for the dial tone. It seemed like a minute later that there was an answer. And he silently thanked god that the number wasn't dead.

"Hello?" A woman's voice came over the phone. One he remembered well. "Who is this and why doesn't your number show up on my caller ID?"

Soap made sure his voice reflected the calm he wanted to show. "Marianna, it's me, John."

There was the sound of a thump, and he guessed she dropped the phone before picking it back up. She was completely flustered. "J-John? But... you- YOU'RE DEAD!" Then she proceeded to threaten, "Look, I don't know why you'd bother a grieving widow, so stop with the prank call before I report you to the police!"

"No! No. Marianna, it's really me." He told her quickly in hopes he could stop her from hanging up. "I read in the news about your husband, and I see how you could think I'm dead. But please, just listen to me."

A sigh. "Fine... I'll listen. But I still don't trust you..."

He tried to think to the lightest way to put it. When he found very little that could lessen the blunt words, he used his tone to tell her he wasn't trying to get in an argument. "I read the news recently, which is how I found out about your husband. And... I also found out you have kids now."

A long pause. He started to wonder if she hung up on him.

"What's your point, John?" She shot back.

"They're about five now, right?" He continued. "You know who you were with five years ago?"

He could imagine her face turning beet red. "I see what you're getting at! And why don't you just hang up now before I report this!"

"Easy now, Lass." He told her lowly. "I didn't call you to pick fights. I just wanted some answers."

"Then what could you possibly want from me, John?" She growled. "And if you're going to ask if you can come see them, then the answer is no."

To that, Soap scoffed. "Not like I can at the moment, believe me. No. Just answer the questions, got it?"

"Fine..." She didn't sound to happy about it, but at least she wasn't tearing his head off as much as he thought she would.

"Alright, seeing as you answered my first question through your outburst, I don't need to ask who the father really is." He stated. "Did you tell them?"

"No." She told him flatly. "They're little children, they wouldn't understand it. I'm not about to ruin their image of their step-dad. The two need someone who they can remember was around."

"And did your husband know they weren't his?" He continued.

"Of course he did!" She snapped. He always did recall her short fuse, maybe he should watch what he said a little better so he didn't upset her anymore. "We were only married for four years! He knew very well that he wasn't the father, but he still loved them like they were his own!"

Soap took this in and went on. "And do you ever plan on telling them?"

There was a second before Marianna spoke, but when she did, her tone was a lot softer, almost as in thought, like she was unsure of her reply. "Maybe... when they're older I could tell them that who they thought was their father wasn't, but I'm not planning on mentioning your name anywhere in it." She admitted.

"And why deprive them of knowing half of their family?" He questioned.

"Because, it's better they don't know that their father is a WANTED CRIMINAL." She had rose her voice as she spoke those last two words. Her temper had flared quickly. "We all saw the news, and no one here would trust you if you came back."

With a heavy sigh, he nodded despite her not being able to see it. "Alright. I get it. Thanks, I suppose, for telling me this. And do expect that someday, when all this shite is straightened out, that I will come and see the kids and let them know."

"Wait? What?" She was now completely shocked, until she gathered her wit and shouted, "GOD DAMMIT, JOHN! STAY THE FU-!"

He hung up. "Sorry, Marianna..."

**Yup, next chapter, sorry about the delay here. But it's done now. I think we've just about caught up with the original story.  
>Big thanks to my Beta Reader and all my reviewers who encouraged me to keep going. Hope you all like the new chapter.<strong>


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